


Homecoming

by daggerpen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, parental death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daggerpen/pseuds/daggerpen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Queti Tabris returns to the Alienage during the Landsmeet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

The house looks exactly like she remembers.

Some vague, distant part of her manages surprise at that. So little of the Alienage was left untouched by either purge or plague, and for here, the center of it all, to remain unaffected is nigh miraculous. Yet here she is, nearly eight months after her wedding, and there's not a thing out of place.

There's a blade in her hand. She keeps looking at it, examining it reverently. She doesn't dare take her mind off the weapon; she knows what will happen the moment her thoughts stray.

It's been well cared for over the years, not the slightest sign of corrosion, but she can see its age nonetheless. It's in desperate need of a whetstone, and the handle needs rewrapped, the fabric well worn from the hands that had used it. Her mother's hands.

"It belonged to your mother. I think you should have it now."

She wonders how her father had gotten it. Had she had it on her when she died? Had they permitted him to reclaim her effects, allowed an elf to walk away with the weapons of a dangerous troublemaker cut down by the guards? Or had she left it at home that day, unarmed when she had fallen?

Queti hefts the blade, feeling its weight, and her fingers match the handle's pattern of wear.

She hands it, slowly, to Alistair, along with the blades from her back. "Can-" She doesn't understand why her voice fails suddenly. She clears her throat. Tries again.

Her eyes are dry.

"Can you take these out for me?" she asks.

"What?" Alistair asks, accepting the weapons in confusion.

"The guards might check," she continues, voice even, flat. "Oh. You should get Zevran's, too."

"What, is this about the notices?" Alistair asks. "Those are just for the elves here, aren't they? You're a Grey Warden, they don't apply to you."

"I'm from here," Queti says. "This-" she doesn't understand why her voice keeps cutting out. "This is my home."

Wynne is giving her an odd look. Queti finds sudden interest in the wall.

"Zevran. Alistair," Wynne says, a strange edge to her voice. "Perhaps we should get word to to Arl Eamon. He must be worried sick by now."

"But what about-?" Alistair begins, only to be interrupted by Zevran.

"Yes, that sounds like an excellent idea," he says, a little too loudly as he catches on. "Let's go now."

They leave, Alistair bewildered, and then only father and daughter remain.

The noise breaks from her all at once, like ice giving underfoot, like water from a dam, and suddenly she is sobbing, knees buckling under her.

Her father rushes to hold her, and she feels like a child as she buries her face in his shirt, clinging and choking on her own tears. "I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault."

"It's not-" he tries to protest.

"Yes it is!" She jerks away, breathing heavily. "This is because of me! Because of what I did! If I hadn't killed Vaughan-"

"Then he would have never seen justice."

"I shouldn't have fought. Why did I fight? It just made it worse. I didn't save anyone."

"I think every woman at your wedding would disagree."

"Then I should have let the guards take me! I should have turned Duncan down! If they'd had me, maybe the guards wouldn't have- wouldn't have-" She can't finish the sentence, a sob choking at her throat.

"They would have," her father says quietly. "And Ferelden would be short a Grey Warden. And I would be short a daughter." He approaches her slowly, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looks at him, tears half blinding her.

"They killed so many people, Da."

"I know."

"E-everyone keeps looking to me to fix all of this. This Landsmeet. Alistair and Arl Eamon and - and fucking _Queen Anora_ keep talking like everything is hanging on me, and what good am I? Like a bunch of human nobles are going to listen to some fucking _knife-eared bitch_ who killed one of their own?" She tears at her hair. "They sent me to find something to use against Loghain, and what do I have? A bunch of dead and enslaved elves against the Hero of River Dane? Like any of them are going to care what happened here!" She sobs. "I couldn't save Shianni. I couldn't save any of you from this. And I'm not going to save Ferelden. I've done nothing but fail everyone."

Her father is silent for a long moment. Finally, slowly, he says, "You've done more for the Alienage than anyone has."

"No I haven't.

"Yes, you have. Yes - look at me, Queti-" he tilts her head gently, meeting her gaze. "Yes. You have. Look at what happened with Vaughan. When do you think the last time anything like that happened? When do you think any shem's paid for what they've done to us before that?"

"The guards-"

"Kill us all the time. But they're scared now. Why do you think they put up those notices? Why do you think they've cracked down like this? They know now that if they push us far enough, we will push back." He frowns. "Nothing that's happened to us - that they've _done_ to us has been fair. It's been awful. People have died. But nothing will change if we don't keep fighting. Your mother knew that well." He tries to smile. "She would be so proud of everything you have done. I know I am."

Queti finds herself nodding, absent, and she wipes at an eye. "Do you think - do you really think it can change, Da?"

"I think it already is changing. And it's because of you." He tries to smile. "I think you're going to march into that Landsmeet. I think you're going to stand in front of every noble in Thedas, and they're going to hang on the every word of an elf. They're going to listen to you. Because they've already been listening to you. I think you're going to stop this Blight. I think you're going to save everyone. Because that's what Grey Wardens do." He places both hands on her shoulders. "And that's what _you_ do."

Queti manages a watery smile. She breathes, slowly, closing her eyes, and when she opens them again they are dry once more. "... I love you, Da," she says.

"I love you too," he replies. Smiling, he steps back, dropping his hands. "Now go save the world."


End file.
